


Myne Owne Hertis Rote

by ButterflyMama78



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Abuse, Edoras, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Horses, Physical Abuse, Rochiriel is Denethor's granddaughter, Rohan, Romance, Slow Burn, Swords, middle-earth, pet wolf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-01-24 11:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21337444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyMama78/pseuds/ButterflyMama78
Summary: Rochiriel is a lifelong friend of Eowyn and Eomer but her feelings for the handsome marshal of the Mark have grown.  As danger breaches the borders of Rohan and Eomer is banished Rochiriel struggles with self-doubts and the mind games Grima Wormtongue is playing...
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Éomer Éadig/Original Female Character(s), Éowyn/Faramir (Son of Denethor II)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Heading to Edoras

Spring 3017 (Third Age)  
Rohan  
Éomer led his exhausted Eored along the familiar path to Edoras. They had been away a fortnight, patrolling the East-mark, fighting small skirmishes with a few orcs here and there.  
He hoped all was well in Edoras. He missed his sister dearly, his uncle, Theoden King of Rohan. If he were being honest with himself, which he was not, he would admit he missed his bed, he missed a good, hot meal, and he missed being clean. Even though he had scrubbed himself clean of the orc blood and entrails, he could still feel the oozing filth on his skin and in his hair. He could still smell the foul stench in his clothes and his armor despite rinsing everything out in a stream three days ago. It was all a trick of the mind, he knew, but still he shuddered.  
Alldred drew his horse abreast with Firefoot, Éomer’s dark grey dappled steed. “I speak for all the riders, my Lord,” he smiled tiredly. “We desire to set foot in Edoras this evening but our horses need a rest.”  
Éomer smiled back. “Indeed,” he agreed, leaning to stroke Firefoot’s neck. “I shall ride ahead to scout a place to rest.”  
Alldred nodded, and fell back to relay word of a rest, and Éomer nudged his horse to a lope.  
His thoughts turned to home once more. The riders were half a day’s ride from Edoras, they could easily make it home, if they wished to awaken their wives and children or their parents and siblings upon their late arrival. In his case, his uncle and sister, and any guest who may be staying in the Golden Hall. It was already nearing midday, judging by the position of the sun in the sky.  
We will decide when we stop, he thought, his dark hazel eyes scanning the horizon ahead. The Snowbourn River was less than an hour’s ride ahead with a small clearing up a hill from the ford. The woods surrounding the river offered shade and fruit, the nearby leah a good spot to hunt for rabbit and deer. Yes, he thought. Perhaps we shall break for nooning and hunt for fresh food. He smiled tiredly at the thought. With warm food in our bellies, we may decide to rest longer for the sake of our horses.  
Firefoot tossed his head as if in agreement, causing the third marshal of the Riddermark to chuckle. “I long to be home,” he stated softly. “As you long to be in your stall, but we both need a rest.” He shook his head. “Let us seek out our nooning place, shall we?”  
As they neared the Snowbourn, Firefoot snorted in warning. Éomer tensed up, reaching for his sword. Then he heard it: a high-pitched yelp of an animal in pain, and the undeniable cry of a human. He drew his sword when he heard the thwacks and thumps, followed by another cry of pain.  
“Leave him be!” he heard a young woman’s voice cry out, followed by a scream of pain following a thwacking sound.  
Éomer kicked his heels into Firefoot’s sides, clutching his sword as they rushed toward the sound. They rounded the curve in the path, drawing up short when he found two young men lashing out with a leather crop and a sizable stick, both looming over a young woman who was cowering—no, not cowering, folding herself over something.  
“What are you doing?” Éomer shouted, sheathing his sword and jumping down from Firefoot. The young men had no chance to move away from the girl before he grabbed them by their collars and shook them violently, jerking them away from her. Despite the rage filling him, he recognized the boys. “Theolaf, Eosolaf,” he looked at them in disgust. Two young men who had been kicked out of training for the eored when they were fifteen years old for being overly aggressive and bringing physical harm to the other boys. “We will discuss the consequences of your actions in Edoras,” he growled at them. “Do not ever let me catch you lashing anyone or anything ever again,” he shoved them away. “Get out of my sight before I bring down punishment upon you without the king’s say!”  
The boys fell, sprawling out onto the ground before scrambling to their feet and running off. Éomer glared after them before turning to the girl sobbing on the ground. His heart wrenched painfully in his chest when he realized who he had rescued.  
She had sat up during his dealings with the boys (for they were not men; no man dared to treat a woman with such malice). He could see the creature she had protected, now carefully embraced on her lap. Her face was resting against the wolf pup’s forehead as she brokenly whispered to it. “You are safe, you will live, I will not ever let anything happen to you while you are by my side.”  
Her hair, a deep shade of dark chestnut, was full of tangles and snarls and broken pieces of the stick used on her. A gash ran across her cheek, blood dripping down her jaw and neck with an angry red welt forming around it, another bruising gash on her forearm, the ivory-hued trumpet sleeve of her dress ripped from her shoulder to her wrist. Blood oozed from her arm down to her fingers clutched in the young wolf’s fur. He knew her back was covered in gashes, an unknown number. Her dress was torn and bloody, ruined beyond any repair Maewyn would be able to do.  
The pup, he noted, was shaking, whimpering, whining, cowering in her arms, a bleeding wound on his hip.  
Before Éomer could take a step closer, the young woman collapsed, passing out cold.  
He moved quickly, dropping to his knees beside her and moving her carefully so he could put his ear to her chest. Her heart was a little erratic, her breathing hitched.  
“Rochiriel,” he whispered, his voice thick with worry as he reached up to brush her hair from her face. He whistled sharply and Firefoot snorted in reply before trotting to him.  
Éomer eased Rochiriel onto the ground, grimacing at the thought of her beaten back touching the dirt and grass. He stood, grabbing his bedroll and saddlebags from the saddle before making quick work of spreading out the blankets and organizing what he needed to clean and treat her wounds. With great care he lifted the girl onto the blankets, cradling one arm around her shoulders to hold her up as he loosened the thin leather cord cinching the ruined bodice of her dress together. He kept his eyes trained on her face as he worked the bodice loose and off her arms, pushing it to her waist before he laid her down on her stomach.  
Eight lashes covered her back, one so deep he could see muscle. Torn muscle. His jaw ticked as he yanked clean bandages out of his bag, unsheathing his knife to slice a couple of strips into smaller pieces. He soaked one piece with water from his canteen and set to work cleaning the wounds and washing away the blood. He grabbed the jar of salve he had procured from one of the healers in Aldburg the last time he had stayed at his home in the East Mark. He was thankful Rochiriel had passed out, the salve was going to burn on the deeper gashes.  
He treated the smaller wounds first on her arm and her cheek before tending the eight on her back. The deepest one bothered him the most with that lacerated muscle. He prayed his Eored would arrive soon, he would need Alldred to stitch her wounds.  
Éomer wrapped the gash on Rochiriel’s arm and wrapped the wounds on her back the best he could. He frowned at the bodice of her dress, grabbing his knife and carefully cutting it free from the skirt. He grabbed his spare tunic from his bag and carefully put it on Rochiriel before he eased her onto her stomach on the bedroll.  
He looked down at the little pup, holding his hand out to let it sniff at him. “I need to treat you,” he whispered, and gently lifted the small wolf into his arms. He talked to the pup the entire time he cleaned and treated the wound, gently petting him and crooning to him to calm him down each time he yelped in pain. “Shh, Faelan, hush, little wolf,” he whispered, settling the pup next to Rochiriel’s side, stroking the soft, thick fur. Eventually, the pup stopped crying and shaking and drifted off to sleep.  
He moved to wipe at his forehead only to stop short when he saw the blood on his hands. Rochiriel’s blood.  
Sweet, beautiful Rochiriel.  
The anger flared up once more as he pushed to his feet and snagged the canteen. What is she doing this far from Edoras? It is far too dangerous for a woman, anyone, to be alone away from home. He stalked down the hill toward the river, making quick work of scrubbing his hands and his armor of the blood. I did not see Brecc anywhere in sight… Where is her horse? She could not have walked this far on foot, we are half a day’s ride from Edoras.  
He refilled his canteen, his hazel eyes scanning the area for any signs of Rochiriel’s horse. With a scowl he stood and stalked back up the hill.  
Éomer untied his cloak from the front of his saddle, shaking it loose from the roll before he carefully draped it over Rochiriel. He reached down to uncover the pup, his heart squeezing painfully as he watched the girl and the wolf cub sleep. What happened, Rochiriel? What would send you so far from home alone, only to be beaten?  
Theolaf and Eosolaf did not lure Rochiriel far from the safety of Edoras, that much he knew. She disliked the boys, she had told his sister in confidence one day a few years before as they sat on the parapet watching the daily activity of their capital city. He had overheard her concern when he had walked out of the Golden Hall on his way to the stables to saddle up Firefoot. She had called them bullies, mean-spirited boys who would never be treated or respected as men. “I know Éomer is training them for the eored,” she had said. “I just pray he sees what bullies they are. I know he will not stand to have anyone with such a mean spirit riding under his command.” She had turned her head to look at her friend, suddenly smiling. That smile would someday bring one lucky man to his knees he recalled thinking. “I would be better-suited for the eored, as would you. We are both better horsemen than those two will ever be.”  
“Be that as it may,” his voice was low and laced with a humor. He smiled apologetically when both young women startled, Rochiriel yelping and blushing a lovely shade of pink. “I would not be comfortable with my two favorite ladies riding under my command, or any marshal’s command,” he had walked over to kneel behind them. “It is far too dangerous, not from the enemy, not from the dangers of the land.” His smile faded. “I would never forgive myself if anything were to happen to either of you.”  
“It would not be any more dangerous for us than it would be here in Edoras,” Éowyn had pointed out quietly. Éomer’s words had bothered her, he knew. His sister wanted to be treated as an equal, she wanted to protect Rohan. She was skilled with blade and shield, she was skilled in the saddle. He would be proud to fight alongside his sister if it weren’t for the crippling fear he had of losing her. They had already lost their parents, he could not afford to lose anyone else he loved.  
Éowyn’s words echoed in his head, and his jaw clenched, recalling how Éowyn had cast a quick glance over his shoulder to the doors of the Golden Hall behind them, how Rochiriel had stiffened and looked away. Wormtongue.  
What has that snake done now? He wondered, frowning, as he pushed to stand up. He walked over to Firefoot and stroked the dappled grey’s neck before making fast work of unsaddling his mount. But why alone? Éowyn would not have let Rochiriel ride off by herself. She loves her like a sister.  
He was jerked from his thoughts when Firefoot whinnied a greeting, answered by a few different neighs in the near distance. Relief flowed through him, his eored had arrived.  
Alldred was the first to approach, frowning down at the girl on the marshal’s bedroll. “Is that… Braedon’s daughter?”  
Éomer nodded, jaw tight. “Aye, tis Rochiriel,” he looked down at the girl.  
“Bema!” He swore quietly. “What happened?”  
“Two of the young… men…” his voice dripping with scorn as he said ‘men’, “Theolaf and Eosolaf were beating her when I arrived. Rochiriel fainted before I could ask her questions. I believe she was protecting this wolf pup from them, but I do not know why she is this far from home, and her horse is nowhere to be seen,” Éomer answered quietly as the other man turned back to his horse. “She is badly injured, one of the wounds on her back is deep, her muscle has been lacerated.”  
Alldred returned with his saddlebags and the supplies he carried to tend to the injured.  
Several of the men started to say something about the wolf pup but fell quiet when Éomer gave them a sharp look. “The pup stays with her,” his tone brooked no argument. “She risked her life to save him, and he will not survive on his own even if his mother finds him.” He sighed heavily. “I fear we will need to make camp, Rochiriel will be unable to travel tonight,” Éomer kneeled beside the unconscious girl. “Those of you who desire to return to Edoras tonight, I will not hold you back.”  
“We’ve already decided, we need reprieve from the saddle,” Alldred kneeled on the other side of Rochiriel. “And we hunger for fresh food. We intend to make camp wherever you decide.” He started removing his protective armor, needing to be free from the heavy leather and chainmail.  
“This clearing is as good a camp as any,” Éomer lifted his cloak from Rochiriel. “I need someone to gather firewood and start a fire, someone to hunt fresh meat, someone to forage for fruit in the forest.” He looked around at some of the men standing around, nodding his appreciation when they stated what they would do, before turning his attention back to Rochiriel.  
He shifted his stance, placing himself between the girl and the rest of his men before he carefully pulled the shirt up to expose her back and the rough field dressing he had performed.  
Alldred raised a brow at the hack job on Rochiriel’s dress. “What did you do with the bodice?”  
“I intend to burn it,” Éomer answered, “along with the linens I used to clean the wounds. I do not want blood-soaked cloth around to draw in the predators.”  
Alldred nodded. “Shame we do not have a tent,” he mentioned quietly as he carefully cut away the bandages wrapped around Rochiriel’s torso.  
Éomer huffed in agreement, gently lifting Rochiriel so Alldred could remove the blood-soaked bandages. He looked over his shoulder, watching his men tend the horses and bring rocks and firewood to build a few campfires. None were paying attention to the girl.  
Alldred let out a low whistle as he counted the gashes on Rochiriel’s back.  
“She has one on her arm, and one on her cheek, as well,” Éomer growled. “I’ve half a mind to kill them for what they’ve done.”  
Alldred nodded, his jaw set as he carefully poked at the wounds. “She is going to be in great pain, Éomer. Do we have enough mead among us?”  
“I have a full skin,” Éomer nodded. Mead was one of the provisions each man packed, for medicinal purposes they claimed. They rarely imbibed while away from home on patrol unless they were wounded or cold and needed to numb the pain or warm up from the inside.  
“As do I,” the other man smiled grimly. “These are all deep, I will stitch them up. This one,” he grimaced when Rochiriel made a pained sound as he cleaned out the deepest wound Éomer had pointed out, “I will need to stitch the muscle and the flesh.” He spared a glance at the wolf pup. “I will need to stitch the pup’s skin, as well.”  
Éomer nodded. “What do I need to do?”  
Alldred set to work stitching the gashes while Éomer held Rochiriel down. She had regained consciousness for a few moments, awakened by the sharp pain of the needle piercing muscle before passing out once more to their relief. By the time the men who headed out to hunt and forage returned, Alldred was stitching up the fifth laceration.  
“Lord Éomer,” Godwine walked over, immediately turning his back upon getting an eyeful of the gashes and a needle being pushed through flesh. He made a gagging sound. “I am sorry, I cannot bear to see… that…” he motioned behind him.  
“What is it, Godwine,” Éomer glanced up at the man. Any other time he would have teased Godwine for gagging, he knew the man had a weak stomach when it came to cleaning and patching up wounds. Being that Rochiriel was the one being stitched up, his good-natured ribbing was absent.  
“Graehame and I found four wolf pups, beaten and lashed. They were dead, my lord,” Godwine’s voice was strained. “What should we do with the carcasses?”  
Éomer’s eyes slid shut, pain gripping his heart. He hoped that Rochiriel had not found the other pups, it would break her heart. She had a gift when it came to animals, a gentle spirit that calmed even the wildest beast and was often sought after to soothe birthing mares and injured or frightened horses. He looked at Godwine. “We cannot leave them,” he sighed heavily. “They will only draw the predators. We’ll have to burn the carcasses.” His eyes flickered to Faran when he ran toward them. His brow furrowed at the grey pallor on the young man’s face. “Faran?”  
“She-wolf, Lord Éomer,” Faran sucked in a breath, letting it out shakily. “Bloody mess. Looked like she had been stabbed to death.”  
Alldred muttered out a few curses.  
Éomer clenched his jaw. “Those bastards…” he growled. “Build a fire downwind, away from camp and burn the carcasses of the she-wolf and her pups.” He turned his attention to the little pup still passed out by Rochiriel. “Faelan needs a mother now.”  
Alldred’s brown eyes snapped up to Éomer’s. “You named the pup?”  
Éomer scowled as he nodded. “I do not look forward to telling Rochiriel about the wolves,” he muttered, pulling the shirt higher up on her back as Alldred turned his attention back to stitching her up. It took every ounce of internal strength he possessed to keep his growing anger, his temper, in check. It would do Rochiriel no good if he exploded into a fit of rage.  
He feared he would cause more pain for his beloved friend.

The brace of rabbits Godwine and Graehame had brought were cooked and half-eaten by the time Alldred finished stitching Rochiriel’s wounds. He made quick work of applying more salve to each gash and covering the wounds with fresh bandages.  
They ate in silence while the men talked amongst themselves, some stretching out to take a short nap, others planning the night watch. Éomer managed a smile, grateful his men were stepping up when he needed them to.  
“I will take the last watch,” he spoke up, looking over at Graehame. “For the camp.”  
“And I will watch the horses, last watch,” Alldred volunteered.  
Graehame nodded. “Faran? Would you take the last watch over the horses with Alldred?”  
Faran nodded. “Aye.”  
Éomer smiled his thanks before turning his attention back to the cold rabbit. He looked down at the wolf pup, who had woken up. “You must be hungry,” he said softly to the pup. “I wonder if you’ve been weaned,” he tore a small morsel of rabbit from the bone and offered it to the little wolf. Faelan shied away from his hand at first, but bravely attempted to sniff his hand and the offering. Sharp little teeth nipped at his fingers as the pup snatched the meat. “Ouch,” he chuckled for the first time since finding Rochiriel.  
“I dread stitching that little fellow,” Alldred frowned as he finished eating his fill.  
Éomer nodded. He did not look forward to it, either.  
He held the pup as Alldred worked on stitching the wound, gritting his teeth against the tears burning in his own eyes as Faelan shrieked in pain. The men dispersed, unable to withstand the howls and screams coming from the baby. He was grateful when the pup passed out, breathing a sigh of relief.  
Alldred let out a shaky breath, rubbing his face against the sleeve of his tunic. Neither man would admit to the tears they had wiped away, the pup’s pain far more distressing to them than tending to the horrific wounds on their fallen comrade’s daughter.  
“I need a drink,” Éomer grumbled, draping his cloak over Rochiriel once more.  
“As do I,” Alldred agreed, pushing to his feed. “Those two boys better hope you don’t find them when we return to Edoras tomorrow.”  
“I will kill them,” Éomer vowed.  
Éomer stayed close to camp, close to Rochiriel and the wolf pup, wanting to be with her when she regained consciousness. Faelan woke first, whining in pain as he tried to stand and hobble off the blankets. The marshal carefully lifted the pup and carried him a short distance away before gently setting him on the grass. Faelan whined and whimpered in pain as he hobbled and stumbled, sniffing half-heartedly at the ground before he stopped and did his business.  
The man waited a moment watching the little wolf, waiting to see if the pup still needed to go. When Faelan made no move Éomer picked him up and cradled him to his chest before returning to Rochiriel’s side. He frowned thoughtfully for a moment as he set the pup down beside the young woman.  
“Éomer?” Alldred looked up from his bedroll, watching the marshal carefully. “Is everything all right?”  
Éomer nodded. “I wish I had a bowl or a cup,” he said quietly. “Something to pour water in for the pup to drink from.”  
Alldred smiled, leaning over to dig into his saddlebags. “I have a small bowl,” he procured one from the bag. He pushed to his feet and strode over.  
“Thank you,” Éomer accepted the bowl. As he grabbed his canteen and poured the cool liquid into the bowl, Rochiriel moaned.  
“Rochiriel,” he quickly capped the skin and set it aside, setting the bowl aside when the girl started to move. “Do not move, Rochiriel,” he warned gently, softly touching his hand to her shoulder.  
The first strike of the leather crop stung across her cheek. Hot, sticky blood oozed from the wound as she threw her arm up to block the next blow. The sharp and jagged edge of the stick slashed into her skin, and she curled her upper body over the little wolf pup when she saw the crop swing toward the screaming creature. “Leave him be!” she cried, and screamed when the crop lashed against her back, then the stick. Pain erupted all over her flesh as the crop and the stick landed more blows. She could not move, shock and pain holding her captive as the boys struck at her.  
They are going to kill me. The thought popped into her head as she closed her eyes tight against the fear that started to squeeze an iron-like grasp around her chest.  
Her heart was thundering hard in her breast and loud in her ears, like galloping hooves on the ground, reverberating through her body.  
“What are you doing?” a man’s shout registered as the lashings suddenly stopped. The tears in her eyes fell to the ground when she recognized the voice of her savior, her friend, the man who held her heart.  
Éomer.  
The pain of the gashes on her face, back and arm began to consume her as she sobbed in relief, she was safe, the pup was safe. She sat up, cuddling the wolf in her arms as she tried to focus on not passing out from the pain, crooning to the pup in a cracking voice. “You are safe, you will live, I will not ever let anything happen to you while you are by my side.”  
The darkness settled over her when booted feet moved into her tear-blurred vision.  
She woke briefly to a searing pain stabbing into the flesh of her back, strong, callused hands holding her down, the murmur of a gruff, familiar voice, before the darkness seduced her into sweet nothingness again.  
She stirred once more, the warm press of a small body shifting against her side dragging her into consciousness. The crackle of a fire, the murmur of male voices, the gentle blowing of horses, a distant call of an owl in a forest reached her ears. She breathed in, her nose registering many smells… leather, wood, horse, smoke, food… Her brow furrowed, her mind struggling to identify the smell… Trout. She breathed in again, a heady almost spicy scent teasing her nose as she turned her face into the thick wool beneath her. She breathed in deeper, she knew that scent, she loved that scent. A feeling of warmth and safety and pining washed over her and she breathed in again, deeper, unable to get enough of that scent. His scent. Éomer.  
Pain erupted across her back, and she moaned, brow furrowing as she began to shift.  
“Rochiriel…” Rustling very close to her, grounding her and keeping her from slipping into unconsciousness. “Do not move, Rochiriel.” A gentle voice laced with both relief and concern, a tender hand, heavy and warm. Éomer’s voice. Éomer’s hand.  
She squeezed her eyes shut and whimpered when pain burned through her cheek. “Wh…where am…I?” she whined, fear gripping at her when she realized she was not at home, not in bed.  
“We are half a day’s ride from Edoras,” Éomer’s hand squeezed her shoulder. “We are camped uphill from the Snowbourn.” His hand moved from her shoulder to stroke over her hair, gentle and soothing. “Rochiriel, do you remember what happened?”  
She squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering as the action pulled on her wounded cheek. She shifted and hissed in pain before she reached up to touch her face. A warm, callused hand curled around her wrist.  
“You do not want to do that, love,” Éomer murmured. “You were injured. I cleaned and treated your wounds, and Alldred stitched them up. You do not want to touch them.”  
Pain. Sharp, burning, biting pain. Two boys, both seventeen years old and considered men by their families, beating a defenseless and innocent creature, taunting her then beating her mercilessly as she moved to defend it. “Where’s the pup?” she whispered.  
“Faelan is right here, drinking the water I set out for him, Rochiriel,” Éomer’s hand slid away from her wrist.  
Rochiriel shivered as a tingling warmth shot through her, and she hissed as the shiver pulled at the wounds on her body. She felt something warm lift and resettle over her shoulders, the soft wool tickling her jaw. Blanket? No. Cloak. His cloak. He thinks I shiver from the cold…  
His words registered. “Faelan?” Her brow furrowed in confusion.  
His chuckle soothed her, warmed her. “I named the pup,” he sounded a little sheepish. “We cleaned and stitched up his wound, as well.”  
“You won’t make me get rid of him? You won’t kill him?” Her voice cracked from pain, exhaustion, fear.  
“No, love,” Éomer’s callused fingertips brushed a lock of her chestnut brown hair from her forehead. “You bravely fought to keep him alive.”  
She breathed a sigh of relief, her eyes sliding shut as she managed a smile. “Thank you, my lord.”  
“You are welcome,” Éomer murmured. “Can you sit up?”  
Rochiriel shifted and cried out when the wounds on her back pulled. “No,” her voice rasped. “I… can’t…”  
She felt him shift and move, the cloak disappearing and a chill settling over her before his hands and arms eased her around. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she fought through the pain burning through her from being moved. She collapsed against his side as he slipped his arm around her waist and hip. His other hand tenderly cradled her head to his chest.  
“What happened today, Rochiriel? Why are you so far from Edoras? Where is your horse? Why were those boys torturing the wolves— “  
Rochiriel’s eyes squeezed shut, pain gripping at her heart. “I was too late to save the other pups…”  
“I am sorry, Rochiriel,” his voice rumbled through his chest. “What brought you out here alone? It is far too dangerous for a woman, for anyone to travel beyond the gates of Edoras,” his voice took on the tone he reserved for lecturing his sister when the head-strong Éowyn wanted to prove she was just as good as any of the men in his Eored. The tone that brooked no argument with its stern delivery, yet soft with love and affection, worry and fear.  
Rochiriel started to lift her hand to her face, wincing when the cloak he had tucked around her shoulders rubbed against the sleeve and the bandage wrapped around her forearm. She whimpered involuntarily and Éomer tightened his arm around her in comfort.  
Alldred approached with a wooden cup held out to her. “My lady, I found birch leaves in the forest and made a tea for you to drink. It should help with the pain,” he said quietly.  
Éomer accepted the cup as Rochiriel murmured a thank you.  
“It will not taste very good,” the older man warned. “And I do apologize, but it will help.”  
Rochiriel took the cup from Éomer, wrinkling her nose as she caught a whiff. Best get this over with, she thought and drank the tea quickly before she could taste it.  
Unfortunately, she could taste it. She shuddered and gasped from the pain her involuntary reaction brought about. Éomer leaned away from her briefly, straightening to take the cup from her. He poured a little water in the cup and quickly rinsed it, tossing the water out in an arc away from the bedroll and refilled the cup.  
“Here,” he handed the cup to her. Rochiriel drank it down slower, savoring the slide of the cool liquid down her throat.  
Éomer took the cup and handed it back to Alldred, nodding his appreciation.  
Alldred returned the gesture. “I will bring a plate of trout once it finishes cooking,” he said and walked off.  
Rochiriel leaned against Éomer once more with a heavy sigh.  
“I need to know what happened, Rochiriel,” Éomer spoke softly. “Theoden will need to decide the proper punishment for them.”  
“Where are they?” she curled her fingers into the sleeves covering her hands. She stiffened and whined as pained burned through seemingly every inch of her upper body. She squeezed her eyes shut before she dared to look down, holding her arms out to see what she wore.  
Éomer caught one of her hands with his. “I had to clean and treat your wounds, Rochiriel. The bodice of your dress was ruined. This is my clean tunic.”  
Rochiriel felt her face heat up, utterly embarrassed.  
“I ran the boys off before I could kill them.” Eomer’s arm flexed around her waist as he hastened to redirect their conversation. “I need answers, Rochiriel.”  
“I…” she started, only to trail off. How do I start? How do I tell him about Grima bothering Éowyn and I again?  
“Relax, Rochiriel,” Éomer murmured, his thumb stroking over her knuckles where he still held her hand, now resting on his thigh.  
“I needed to get away,” she went with a vague explanation. “I saddled Brecc and left Edoras, to clear my head and think… I did not realize I had ridden so far from home until I heard the wolf pups yelping in pain,” her voice broke, and Éomer tightened his arm around her waist. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I was too late to save the others… but I had to try and save him.” She looked down when she felt a tug at her skirt and smiled through her tears when the grey ball of fur fell in his attempt to climb onto her lap.  
Éomer released her hand and scooped Faelan up, gently easing the pup onto her lap.  
She reached down, stroking her fingers through the pup’s fur. She took a deep breath, flinching as pain flared through the wounds on her back, and told him what happened up until she fainted from the pain.  
“Why did you leave Edoras?” Éomer asked softly. “You never answered that question, Rochiriel.”  
“I… I do not wish to discuss it,” she answered. “Please, my Lord.”  
Éomer breathed in deep, his chest expanding against her. He exhaled. “You must tell me someday, Rochiriel,” he sighed.  
Rochiriel winced, ducking her head. “I know,” she whispered, and prayed she never would have to tell him. All hell would break loose once he knew the truth, and she feared for him, for his safety.  
Later that night, Éomer offered Rochiriel his skin of mead. “This will help you relax, will help you sleep,” he said. “Tis a stout drink,” he warned. “Stronger than the sweet wine you’ve had in the Golden Hall.”  
Rochiriel took the bag, frowning at his reference.  
“I have borne witness to you sneaking a glass or two of the sweet blackberry wine during the Yule celebration.”  
She groaned. “Éowyn promised no one would know,” she whispered.  
He chuckled. “You two are as thick as thieves, I felt I needed to keep an eye on my sister and our dearest friend.”  
She blushed.  
“Tis good to see color return to your cheeks,” he murmured. “Drink up, I should check your wounds before we turn in for the night.”  
Rochiriel nodded, scrunching her nose as she lifted the skin to her lips.  
The mead was strong and burned as she swallowed. She swallowed twice more, the burn spreading through her body. The urge to cough was overwhelming and painful as she gave in. Éomer offered water to ease her throat.  
Once her coughing fit died down and she could breathe again with no pain, Rochiriel excused herself, stiffly getting up with Faelan to answer the call of nature. Éomer stood with a frown furrowing his brow.  
“Where do you think you are going?” he asked quietly.  
She blushed. “Tis a personal matter, my Lord,” she whispered.  
“Oh,” he nodded, grimacing. “I do not wish you to leave camp alone, Rochiriel.”  
“I can take care of myself,” her voice warned. “With the exception of today,” she ducked her head when Éomer raised his brow at her.  
“My sister has influenced you greatly,” he said with a soft smile and a shake of his head. He reached down to his side and withdrew his knife. “Take this with you,” he held it hilt first toward her.  
Rochiriel curled her fingers around the leather-bound hilt, brushing his. “I shall not be long,” she promised. “If Faelan does not take his time seeking an ideal spot.”  
Éomer chuckled but sobered quickly. “I will follow you part way. Yell my name if you need me.”  
She nodded, blushing, and started walking toward a stand of bushes just beyond the edge of the campfire’s light. Éomer took the pup from her arms and set Faelan down and watched as she continued on. He waited as promised, listening for trouble and watching the pup do his business on a small rock jutting up through the grasses. When Rochiriel returned, he relaxed.  
“May I ask where I shall bed down?” she asked as Éomer picked up the pup.  
Éomer shot her a look, brow cocked again. “On my bedding by the fire.”  
Her eyes widened. “Where will you sleep?” she asked, her voice colored with surprise.  
He gave her a one-shouldered shrug. “T’would not hurt me to sleep on the ground.”  
“Nonsense,” Rochiriel shook her head. “Éomer, I cannot take your blankets from you!”  
He stopped, stepping into her path to face her. “And what would you suggest, Rochiriel? You are injured, and I will not allow for you to sleep on the ground. The night will be cold.”  
“And I cannot take your bedding from you for that very reason,” she admitted.  
“We could share the bedding instead,” the words were out of his mouth before he even realized he’d thought them.  
Rochiriel’s eyes widened once more. “Éomer …”  
“You are under my protection, Rochiriel,” his voice shook slightly. “And a man would not deny a lady a warm place to sleep. Share my bed roll with me. I will use my cloak as a cover and will be taking the last shift as guard. The men will not utter a word to our people,” he promised. “I will have their tongues if they do.”  
Rochiriel did not know how to answer, nodding dumbly before Éomer fell back beside her to resume their trek back to the campfire.  
Rochiriel made her way to the bed roll. She moved to settle at the far edge of the bedding away from the fire, but Éomer shook his head as he set Faelan down on the blankets.  
“I will take this side,” he whispered. “I would rather be between you and the night.”  
She felt a shiver, a burn flow through her at his words and grimaced from the pain shooting through her from shivering. A man who wanted to place himself between a woman and danger… no words could explain how that made her feel. She nodded and settled down closer to the fire and the warmth it offered.  
“I will sleep on my side, to give you room to sleep on your stomach,” he bent close to whisper in her ear before striding off to check over the camp as the rest of the men began to settle for the night.  
It was late when he finally returned to the bedding, a few of the men around their fire already snoring softly from their own bed rolls. Rochiriel groaned as she shifted, turning her head to face Éomer as he quietly removed his belt holding his sheathed knives and sword.  
“Do you hurt?” his voice was low, husky.  
Her mouth quirked. “Aye,” she answered. “And I strongly dislike sleeping on my stomach, my Lord.”  
He smiled back as he carefully arranged his armor and his weapons within easy reach. “As I dislike sleeping on my side,” he shrugged. “I fear sleeping on your side would be painful for your back.”  
She nodded in agreement.  
“Get some sleep, Rochiriel,” he murmured, stretching out onto his side, his back to her so he could face the darkness and reach for his sword and knives if he so needed to.

Éomer normally slept light when out on patrol, dozing and waking throughout the night and listening for trouble. He often checked in with the men on guard duty if he felt the need to, ready to get up when it was his turn to take over watch.  
This night was different. He lay awake a long time, listening to the breathing of the young woman at his back until her breath slowed and the pup curled up beside her started to snore. He was still awake for the changing of the guard at the midnight hour when Rochiriel whimpered in pain in her sleep. He wished he could take away her pain, but alas he was helpless to do so. She shifted behind him, hissing out a curse no woman should have ever heard (unfortunately he was well aware of the amount of time Rochiriel had spent in the stables with his sister, overhearing all the colorful curses the riders let out when a horse bit, kicked, or stepped on them. This particular curse was one he spouted quite often, she had likely picked it up from him). He tried not to smile as he felt her settle down once more at his back, her hand tucked up near his shoulder. Feeling her seek out his warmth soothed him and he soon drifted off.  
“Éomer,” Alldred’s quiet voice roused him from his slumber. “Tis time for your watch.”  
Éomer peeled an eye open and looked at his friend. He frowned. “Why do you grin so?” He muttered in a low and sleep-thickened voice.  
“Been tryin’ to rouse ye for five minutes,” Alldred chuckled quietly. “You never sleep so deeply.”  
Éomer squeezed his eyes shut, his body slowly waking up. He scraped his hand down his face, frowning harder when he realized he was using his left hand. He had fallen asleep on his left side facing away from the campfire.  
He opened his eyes once more, realizing he was looking up at the sky with the warmth of his bedroll at his back and a small, warm body pressed up to his right side and tucked up under his right arm. Another small body was nestled between his calves and a weight on his left knee. Looking down his body, he realized that during the night he had rolled onto his back and Rochiriel had curled up to him. Faelan had managed to flop between his legs, snoring slightly.  
He carefully extracted himself from the warmth of his bed mates, brushing a soothing hand first over Faelan’s side then over Rochiriel’s cheek before he made his way toward the trees to relieve himself and scout around the camp. He checked in with the men taking over horse duty and continued his circuit to the top of the hill leading down to the Snowbourn. He smiled at the sight of the river, silver in the waning moonlight as the moon began its descent toward the western horizon.  
All was quiet, as it had been all night.  
His eyes slid shut as the memory of Rochiriel snuggled up against his side filled his mind. Damn it, Éomer, she is your friend, she is still young, he scolded himself for the thoughts sneaking up on him.  
She had felt so soft, so warm, so right curled up to his side.  
For a long time he had carried a soft spot for her in his heart, as Éowyn’s friend, as his friend. She was smart, sweet, funny, caring and was much loved by his uncle and cousin. She had grown up toddling after them in the Golden Hall. Yesterday had turned the tide for him, seeing her selflessly protect the wolf pup from a certain death. Her bravery, her… stupidity, risking her life for that of a wild animal. Her stubbornness in trying to hide her tears and not show weakness in front of him and the others when her wounds had to hurt like hell, her kindness in not wanting to steal his bedding from him.  
He shook his head to clear his mind before he turned and finished patrolling the outer edges of the encampment, returning to the camp to look upon the young woman still sleeping in his bedding. When did she blossom into a young lady? Just yesterday she was still dressing up with Éowyn when they were not in the paddocks and stables or down at the training yard watching the boys learn how to wield swords, bows and spears.  
He sighed quietly. The past few years he had been busy patrolling the East-Mark and splitting his time between Edoras and Aldburg. His own sister had grown before he had realized.  
Change was inevitable.  
The eastern horizon lightened slowly, the sky glowing in deep violets, corals, and blues. Éomer roused two of the other men, tasking them to awaken the others. He returned to his blankets, smiling as he gazed down at the young woman and the pup curled up to her side. He hated to wake her, but they needed to start toward Edoras after a quick breakfast.  
“Rochiriel,” he called her name softly. “Rochiriel, ‘tis time to awaken. We ride home today.”  
She scrunched her nose as she burrowed her face into the blankets. “Ugh, no,” she groaned, pulling the top blanket over her head.  
He chuckled as he curled his fingers around the wool and pulled it away from her head. “Yes, Rochiriel. Wake up, we ride in an hour.”  
She blinked one eye slowly open, gasping a few moments later when she recognized she was not at home in her bed, rather in a clearing near the Snowbourn… in Éomer’s blankets. She sat up quickly, only to bite back a cry as pain ripped through her back, forearm and cheek from the sudden move.  
Éomer’s brows drew together in a concerned frown as he grabbed her shoulders to steady her. “Alldred will redress your wounds after breakfast,” he whispered, squeezing her shoulders. “No sudden moves, Rochiriel,” he gently teased half-heartedly. Seeing her in pain distressed him.  
She narrowed her eyes at him, “I had forgotten where I was for a moment,” she admitted crankily. “Do not startle me so!”  
He smiled at her pitiful attempt to reprimand him. “I cannot promise that,” he winked, releasing her shoulders. “Come, watch the sunrise with me.”  
Rochiriel met his eyes, a blush creeping across her cheeks.  
Éomer held out his hand. She slipped her hand in his. He lifted the wolf pup against his chest before standing, pulling Rochiriel to her feet with him.  
Rochiriel blushed a little harder when he tucked her hand into his elbow and led her toward the river.  
Faelan struggled in Éomer’s arm, and he set the wolf pup on the ground. The little wolf hobbled along on three legs, sniffing around at the new smells and marking his territory three different times before they reached the top of the hill overlooking the Snowbourn and the brightening sky beyond.  
“It has been far too long since I’ve looked upon the sunrise,” Rochiriel admitted, smiling as she watched a glowing edge peek up from the darkened ground. “Tis a beautiful sight.”  
Éomer nodded, smiling back as he looked down at her before returning his gaze to the sun.  
The orange disc of the sun slipped free from the horizon, making an arc into the sky to follow his daily path. Rochiriel sighed happily as she leaned against Éomer’s warm strength. “Thank you, for this,” she whispered.  
“Thank you for sharing this with me,” Éomer whispered back. They stood for a few moments longer before Rochiriel excused herself for a moment of privacy.  
Éomer stood, waiting with Faelan. The pup sat at his feet, looking up at him with his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. The marshal looked down at the little wolf with a smile. “It pleases me to see your experiences yesterday have not frightened you away from good people,” he said softly, kneeling to pet the pup. Faelan yipped, twisting his neck to attempt to lick and chew on Éomer’s thumb, causing the man to chuckle.  
“Careful,” Rochiriel’s soft voice was filled with amusement. “He still has his milk teeth.”  
Éomer winced when said milk teeth sank into the fleshy part of his hand between his thumb and forefinger. “Yes, I can feel them,” he admitted, chuckling when the pup let go to yip happily at Rochiriel.  
She stiffly knelt beside Éomer to lift the pup into her arms. “You are in good spirits this morning, Faelan,” she smiled, nuzzling the pup’s face. “I can only hope our people will accept him,” she looked up at Éomer and blushed as he reached down to cup her elbows in his hands. She smiled her thanks as he helped her stand. “As I have already fallen in love with this little pup.”  
“Do not worry,” Éomer smiled gently. “I am quite taken by the little wolf as well. I will fight if need arises for you to keep him. They will not turn him away.” He reached over to scratch behind the pup’s ear. “Come, we need to eat before we break camp.”  
Éomer grimaced when he heard Rochiriel’s sharp gasp as Alldred tended her wounds.  
“Those boys will be lucky if they keep their heads,” Godwine walked over to grip Éomer’s shoulder. “Lady Rochiriel is lucky you arrived when you did.”  
Éomer clenched his jaw, nodding tersely. “They would have killed her had I delayed,” he growled lowly.  
Godwine clapped his hand over Éomer’s shoulder before releasing his friend. “Come, my Lord. We ride for home today,” he redirected their conversation away from the dark thoughts creeping into the marshal’s mind.  
Éomer nodded, taking Firefoot’s reins in his hand and leading his horse to the camp.  
Rochiriel accepted the skin of mead Alldred handed to her with a weakened “thank you”. She abhorred the burn and the taste of the drink, but the strength of the alcohol took the edge off the pain and gave her head a pleasant, fuzzy sensation. She took three swallows before handing the skin back, giving the man a smile of gratitude before she turned away to straighten the undershirt she wore.  
“Here, drink this,” Alldred returned with a wooden cup. “More birch leaf tea.”  
“Thank you, Alldred,” Rochiriel smiled up at him, accepting the cup. “You have been most kind.”  
He smiled back. “Your father was a good friend of mine,” he told her, then turned to tend to his horse.  
Rochiriel’s nose wrinkled as she lifted the wooden cup, she really hated tea. She preferred mead over tea, funnily.  
She sighed, bringing the cup to her lips and swallowing down the drink. It was nasty.  
“Birch leaf works wonderfully,” Éomer said as he stopped a few feet away. He stooped down to grab his bedroll, smiling when he noted how beautifully, how perfectly Rochiriel had rolled and secured it despite her injuries. He tied it in front of the saddle. “Would you prefer to ride in the saddle or behind me?” he asked, draping his cloak over the saddle.  
Rochiriel looked up at him. “It would be best if I rode behind you, my Lord,” she answered. “For your comfort, and for mine.” She turned her head away, blushing at the thought of Éomer with his arm around her waist riding double.  
Oh, how she wanted that, very much. Her back would not be able to handle his armor against her at the moment, however.  
Éomer nodded, leaning down to pick up his armor. He quickly fastened the protective gear on with practiced ease and strapped on all his weapons. “I pray Faelan will ride comfortably with us.”  
Rochiriel smiled, reaching out to run her fingers through the little wolf’s soft fur. “What say you, Faelan, will you ride?”  
The pup looked up at her, licking her face.  
Éomer chuckled. “I will have my hands full with the both of you, will I not?” he asked in a soft whisper.  
Rochiriel shivered as his words washed over her. The question was teasing, she knew, but it seemed to hold so much more. Her eyes shyly flickered toward the handsome marshal, and the smile tilting his lips. “You have known me for years, my Lord,” she answered. “Have I ever proven to be a handful?”  
He chuckled. “Aye, milady, you have,” he winked, and turned to check over the saddle. He curled his fingers into the warm green material of his cloak, sliding it from the seat of his saddle. He turned back to her. “It is still cold out this morning,” he held out his free hand to her, tugging her gently to her feet before placing the cloak around her shoulders to fasten it at her neck. “This will keep you warm.”  
Rochiriel lifted her eyes to his, blushing as she felt his callused fingertips brush the flesh of her neck. “What would the women of Edoras say when they see me wearing the marshal of the mark’s cloak?” she whispered, scared to hear his answer.  
“No woman holds claim to me,” he said after a moment. “Tis my duty to protect the citizens of Rohan, even if it means to sacrifice my comfort. Your comfort… means more to me than my own.” He traced his fingertip up the slender line of her neck to her chin, drawing a shiver from her that went straight through her, pain be damned. He pulled back, tearing his eyes from hers. “Come, we ride.”  
He mounted Firefoot, then held out his hands for Faelan when Rochiriel stiffly picked up her pup. The little wolf stretched out over his lap, tongue lolling. Éomer chuckled, steadying the pup with his right hand as he held out his left to Rochiriel, slipping his foot from the stirrup.  
Rochiriel pulled the deep brown skirt up, lifting her left leg to slip her foot into the stirrup. She placed her hand in his. “Damn, this hurts,” she whispered as pain shot through her back and forearm once more. Éomer lifted a brow at the curse she’d uttered before asking if she was ready. She answered it with a nod before tightening her grip on his hand, and he pulled her up.  
Rochiriel struggled with her thick skirt as she swung her leg over Firefoot’s rump. Éomer kept her hand in his as she straightened her skirt and the cloak, squeezing her hand.  
“Perhaps it would have been more favorable for you to ride in the saddle,” he asked over his shoulder.  
“And have all of my skirts and your cloak bunched up under me? No, thank you,” she shook her head, twisting to try to drape the skirt and cloak over Firefoot’s rump. She whimpered as the injuries and stitches on her back pulled. “Your armor would be rubbing and tearing at my wounds.”  
He nodded, placing her left hand against his side. He bit back a groan when he felt her right hand settle lightly on his right hip. “If you need me to stop, do not hesitate to tell me, Rochiriel,” he told her, cradling his left hand over Faelan. He nudged Firefoot forward.  
Rochiriel slipped her arms around Éomer’s waist, his armor uncomfortable. She was not used to riding behind the saddle. As the big grey started toward the river she gasped and tightened her arms, suddenly terrified of falling off. The marshal reached down with his right hand to brush her knee in silent assurance.  
Éomer glanced over his shoulder with a soft smile. “We will not ride fast,” he promised. “The pace of a walk will see us home in time for lunch.”


	2. Home Sweet Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eomer brings Rochiriel home to Edoras, where she begins her recovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the late update! I'm getting the hang of having a Chromebook instead of a laptop (thank you Black Friday sales!) and have been struggling with my muse. I've been bouncing around writing parts to other stories and can't stay focused for too long on just one... 
> 
> Updates will be sporadic, but hopefully I won't go over a month between updates from here on out. I will begin posting other stories as well.
> 
> Enjoy Chapter Two, and have a Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Blessed Yule, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Festivus. Happy Holidays!

“Rochiriel,” Éomer switched the reins to his left hand, reaching down to squeeze her thigh through her skirts. “Edoras lies up ahead,” he smiled when she peeked over his shoulder to see the city in the distance, less than an hour’s ride away. “We are almost home.”

Rochiriel smiled wearily. “I am glad,” her voice was strained as she dropped her forehead to the cool leather covering his shoulder blade. 

“Are you feeling well?” Éomer frowned, tightening his hand on her leg once more. “Rochiriel, do we need to stop?”

“Éomer, is everything all right?” Alldred rode up abreast of them.

Éomer spared his friend a glance before returning his attention to the young woman behind him. “Rochiriel, answer me, are you feeling all right? Do we need to stop?”

“No,” Rochiriel shook her head. “I can make it, my Lord, I can make it to Edoras. We do not need to stop.”

“Like hell,” Éomer growled. “You are in pain, Rochiriel, and you have not uttered a word about it!”

“I did not wish to burden you with a delay,” she whimpered into the leather and metal of his armor. 

Éomer looked over to Alldred. “Take the men and ride on ahead,” he said. “Rochiriel needs a respite. Tell Lady Daewen that her daughter is safe with me, say nothing of her injuries. Have Godwine send one of the royal healers to her house once we arrive. And find the boys responsible and bring them to the Golden Hall.”

“Yes, sir,” Alldred nodded. “Anything else, Éomer?”

“If Rochiriel’s mother needs anything, please see to it.”

“Yes, my lord,” Alldred reined his horse to alert the men.

“Éomer, no,” Rochiriel whimpered into his shoulder. “I can make it!”

Éomer shook his head. “You are in pain, Rochiriel,” his voice was firm as he reined Firefoot aside. Keeping a firm grip on Faelan he threw his right leg over Firefoot’s neck and dismounted. He quickly and carefully placed the wolf pup on the ground before turning to place his hands on Rochiriel’s waist. “Down we go,” he murmured before lifting her down and against his chest. Once he helped her to a soft spot to sit he turned to fetch the mead from his saddlebags.

Rochiriel dashed away the tears slipping down her pale cheeks, whimpering in pain when she forgot about the wound under her left eye. “Éomer, you have been away from home a fortnight, I do not wish to delay you a moment longer!”

Éomer kneeled before her. “A moment longer, a day longer,” he shook his head and pressed the skin into her hands. “It matters not if you are in pain, Rochiriel.” He brushed his knuckles against 

the back of her hand. “Drink up, love. We will return home when you feel up to riding.”

Rochiriel knew she would not win this argument. Éomer is right, I hurt too much to ride. She lifted the skin, taking a few very healthy drinks. 

She was mortified when an unladylike belch erupted from her lips and caused the marshal to chuckle. She stared at him with wide eyes.

“I believe you shall be able to drink some of the men under the table before long, love,” Éomer teased, smiling at her now. “You very well could win the next drinking contest.”

She shook her head. “No, Éomer,” she sighed. “I do not like mead.”

“We always have ale,” he chuckled. “And wine.”

“I will stick with wine,” she smiled half-heartedly. “If ladies drink, they drink wine.”

“If I had any wine, I would offer it to you,” Éomer conceded. “But for now, all I have is the mead. It will loosen your muscles and ease your pain.”

“I will not be fit to ride, Éomer,” she felt a pleasant warmth spread through her. “What will you do with me if I cannot sit on a horse?”

“Then you shall ride in the saddle, and I will ride behind you,” he promised. “Perhaps riding in the saddle will help you relax.”

“Perhaps,” Rochiriel agreed, taking another healthy drink before offering the skin to Éomer. “I feel terrible for drinking your mead and not sharing.”

Éomer’s brow quirked up. “I do not mind,” he said softly but accepted the skin. He took a small drink at her expectant look. “You need it more than I, and there are more in the cellars of the Golden Hall.”

“Then we had best hurry back to Edoras,” Rochiriel giggled. She hiccupped, eyes growing wide as she covered her mouth. She giggled again as she blushed.

“I believe that is enough for you, young lady,” Éomer frowned, taking the skin and securing it in the saddlebag once more. “How do you feel?”

“I feel nothing but warmth,” Rochiriel sighed, a drunken smile bowing her lips. “A pleasant, tingling warmth all throughout my body.”

Éomer groaned. “Up in the saddle with you,” he lifted her into his arms and swung her up into the saddle. Rochiriel curled her fingers around the pommel, giggling again as she watched him pick up Faelan. The wolf pup plopped across her lap.

Éomer adjusted Rochiriel’s skirts and his cloak before he swung up behind her. He slipped his left arm around her waist and reached around her to take the reins in his right hand. She soon relaxed 

against his chest, numb to the pain along her back.

He held Firefoot to a steady walk, hoping the jostling of each step would not further injure her back. He knew his armor could not be comfortable rubbing up against her wounds. 

“I want to go fast, faster,” Rochiriel giggled after a while, craning her neck to look up at him with bright blue eyes. “Please, Éomer, can we go faster?”

“No, Rochiriel,” he shook his head. “I cannot make Firefoot run fast without you or Faelan falling off.”

Rochiriel pouted. “You spoil my fun,” she muttered.

He chuckled, tightening his left arm around her waist. “Perhaps someday when you are healed I will take you for a ride and we shall go as fast as you please.”

She sighed, laying her right hand over his. “I would like that very much, my Lord.”

“Rochiriel, you’ve known me your entire life, there is no need for you to be so formal when speaking with me when we are alone,” he said softly. He preferred to be addressed by his name and not his title. 

“Éomer,” she sighed his name, brushing her hand over his gloved one. “You are a good man.”

Éomer blushed, unable to respond. Her soft touch sent heat through his body, strong, intense, unlike anything he had ever felt from a woman’s touch before. And it was all wrong.

It felt right, but at the same time he knew it was wrong. Rochiriel was still young, a woman of sixteen years. She was his sister’s best friend, his friend. She was injured, and dammit she was intoxicated. 

He had not meant for her to become so drunk from the mead, he had only hoped to take the edge off her pain, as had Alldred the night before. Alldred. Of course, he must have given her some before we broke camp.

Éomer was going to have a time explaining to Rochiriel’s widowed mother why her young daughter was drunk.

“I dreamt of this once,” Rochiriel sighed. “Riding with you like this…”

His eyebrows shot up. “Did you?” Inwardly, he groaned. What the hell are you doing, Éomer? Encouraging her to tell secrets while she’s drunk? 

“Aye, my Lord,” she sighed again. Happy. Breathy. 

Do. Not. Encourage. Her. 

He gritted his teeth, that breathy sigh getting to him in the worst way. He wanted to hear that sound 

again, he wanted to be the reason for that sound. 

Under better circumstances, when she is healed, sober, and a little older. Stop thinking about it, Éomer. 

Sixteen was not too young, it was not unheard of for young women Rochiriel’s age to be involved with men, whether the men were their age or twice their age. Éomer had nearly ten years on her, a reasonable age gap. One that would not bother him under any other circumstances.

However… She was Éowyn’s closest friend. He had ridden patrols with her father before Braedon died. Hell, he had known Rochiriel since she was a babe. He had taken it upon himself to work with her on her riding skills while he worked with Éowyn, feeling he owed it to her father… as Braedon had died saving his life.

“Tell me about your dream?”

You are a stupid man, Éomer.

Her fingertips danced over the back of his hand, and he suppressed a shiver. 

“I dreamed I was in the Golden Hall with Éowyn for my birthday. She had given me a beautiful dress… it was white with blue trim and a black sash with blue stitching… She told me to put it on…” she turned her head, resting her cheek against the leather of his armored chest plate. “After I put the dress on, Éowyn and I walked from her room to the great hall, and you were there with Theoden and Theodred. All three of you stared at me… and you…” she giggled, sighing another dreamy sigh (he groaned out loud that time, he really wanted to be the reason for that sound). “You walked up to me and took my hands in yours and you told me, ‘this blue matches the color of your eyes’… and you took me riding on Firefoot. Like this… but I wasn’t hurt and we didn’t have little Faelan,” she stroked her fingers through the drowsing pup’s fur. “We rode out to the vale where the roses bloom, and you kissed me…”

Éomer’s arm tightened around her waist. “What was it like?” His voice was low, deep, husky. Have you lost your mind?

“It was beautiful,” she whispered. “The way your hands cradled my face and curled into my hair, the way your thumbs brushed over my cheeks… the way your eyes looked into mine… Your eyes change color with your mood,” she went on. “They were the color of warm honey with flecks of green and gold, so beautiful… And you whispered my name before your lips touched mine. Soft and gentle…” She trailed off before a violent hiccup shook her frame and startled Faelan. 

Éomer quickly steadied the pup as he swallowed hard. If I were to kiss you, that is how I would do it, he thought once Faelan settled down. 

She drew in a deep breath, exhaling it shakily. He frowned at how sad that breath sounded. 

“Riding on Firefoot with you is like part of that dream coming true. Only I know I could never turn the head of a young, handsome marshal of the mark. My family has no standing. It is a wonder I 

am even friends with Éowyn… and you.”

The sadness in her voice got to him. “No standing… Rochiriel, why would you say that? You’re the granddaughter of the Steward of Gondor! The daughter of a former marshal of the mark, and Éowyn and I have been friends with you for a long time.”

She nodded. “Grima… he told me. He said that you took pity on me after Papa was killed,” her voice took on a bitter tone.

“No, Rochiriel,” Éomer sighed heavily. “My father died when I was eleven years old, my mother soon after. Your father died when you were ten. You cannot take pity on someone when you were once in their position, Rochiriel.” He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm the anger he could feel building within at Grima Wormtongue’s mindgames. “Why were you talking to Wormtongue?”

“He cornered me yesterday,” Rochiriel answered quietly. “Éowyn and I were hoping to finish embroidering the tunic I had made for your birthday. A beautiful tunic… Hama had just let me into the Golden Hall when Grima grabbed my arm and dragged me into a dark corner. I… I thought he… he was…”

Éomer took another deep breath. “Did he?” he could not keep the harsh tone out of his voice.

Rochiriel shrank in on herself, pulling away from him. “N-no,” she whispered shakily.

Éomer tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest once more. “I am not angry with you, Rochiriel,” he managed somehow to lighten his tone. “Rest assured I will have words with Wormtongue when we get home.”

She shook her head. “No, no, please,” she pleaded, gripping his left hand. “It’ll only make it worse, he watches me all the time, he follows me when I visit Éowyn. Theoden no longer notices… And you are always gone, either on patrol or to Aldburg…” 

Éomer clenched his teeth together. Grima Wormtongue is a dead man if he dares to lay a hand on Rochiriel again. Or Éowyn, if she does not geld the bastard first.

“Mama is going to have my hide, isn’t she?” Rochiriel asked quietly as Edoras loomed ahead over the Snowbourn.

“My mama skinned mine a time or two when I was a child,” Éomer chuckled. “Whoa, Firefoot!” He reined in the horse when the dapple quickened his pace upon reaching the river’s ford. “Walk, my boy.” 

The big horse snorted and shook his head in displeasure, drawing another chuckle from the marshal. “We’re ready to be home, too, Firefoot,” he sighed. “Your mother will be glad to have you home, Rochiriel,” he told her, tightening his grip on the reins when Firefoot again tried to break out into a gallop.

“I’ve never been away from home overnight like this before,” Rochiriel admitted. “She must be disappointed with me.”

“No,” Éomer shook his head as they crossed through the north gate. “She won’t be, I promise,” he assured her, reining Firefoot toward the small thatched houses at the bottom of the hill in Auld Town. He stopped in front of one with beautiful yellow flowers in the yard. He slid off his horse before scooping up Faelan and setting him down. He was carefully helping Rochiriel out of the saddle when her mother rushed out of the house, hands wringing her skirts with worry.

Daewen cried out her daughter’s name when Éomer lifted Rochiriel into his arms. “What has happened?” she demanded, coming closer and frowning when her daughter giggled out a nervous greeting to her mother.

“I will explain in a moment, Lady Daewen,” his voice was strained as he shifted his stance to accommodate a suddenly-giggly Rochiriel. The girl tended to giggle when nervous, and being drunk made it worse, he realized. He glanced down at the little wolf at his feet. “Come, Faelan.”

Daewen gasped when she saw the wolf pup. “What’s this?”

“Your daughter saved his life,” Éomer answered shortly at the same time Rochiriel cooed, “My little wolf!” He grunted when the young woman tried to shift around in his arms. He tightened his fingers against her knee. “Would you hold still, Rochiriel, before you cause me to drop you!”

Rochiriel went still. “You would not dare to drop me, my Lord,” she sighed, reaching up to touch his bearded jaw. “You are far too noble to do such a thing.”

“Is my daughter drunk?” Daewen gasped disapprovingly.

“Milady, I will explain,” Éomer nodded his head toward the house. “Once I have lain her in her bed,” he grunted when Rochiriel went slack in his arms, hopefully from either the mead or exhaustion.

Daewen heaved a great sigh before gathering her skirts and turning toward the door. “You are to explain everything. Captain Alldred was quite vague when he came earlier to inform me of my daughter’s whereabouts.”

“Aye,” Éomer nodded. “I did not wish to worry you with details until you were able to lay eyes upon your daughter.”

At his words, Daewen turned, a grateful smile warming her paled face. “And I thank you for your thoughtfulness, Éomer.” She led him into a smaller room near the back of the little house. “What happened?”

Éomer crossed the small room to the bed tucked up against the wall, bracing his knee on the mattress to steady himself before lowering Rochiriel’s limp body onto it. “She rode out yesterday morning, after…” he trailed off, unclasping his cloak from her neck and shifting her onto her stomach.

“What happened in the Golden Hall?” Daewen demanded. “Rochiriel would not say before she took off for the stables.”

“Grima Wormtongue,” he spat the name out. “He watches my sister and your daughter despite repeated warnings from Theoden, Theodred, and myself.” He closed his eyes briefly, drawing in a slow, deep breath before pushing away from the bed, purposefully not telling her what Rochiriel had confessed. “Rochiriel rode further than she intended and happened upon two boys beating the wolf pup.”

Daewen sucked in a sharp gasp, looking down at the little wolf who was whining at the bed.

Éomer stooped down to lift the pup onto the mattress where he promptly curled up against Rochiriel. “Your daughter valiantly defended Faelan and was injured in the process. I was scouting for a good nooning place when I found them. We have cleaned, treated and stitched both Rochiriel’s and the pup’s wounds, have provided food, a bedroll and the mead to ease her pain.”

Daewen’s eyes slid shut in grief as she sank onto the mattress by her daughter’s legs. “How severe are her wounds?”

“They require salves and medicinal tea,” he answered. “Alldred believes she will have scars.” He reached out to place a comforting hand on Daewen’s shoulder. “Your daughter is very brave, Lady Daewen,” he assured her. “She protected the wolf pup from those… boys… and would have stood up to me to defend Faelan if I had not quickly bonded with the pup before she regained consciousness. I regret that I did not happen upon the clearing a few moments earlier, and I regret that Rochiriel imbibed more mead than I intended. She did not tell me of her pain as we rode this morning until I forced it out of her.”

Daewen nodded. “She is as stubborn as her father,” she sighed, stroking her hand over her daughter’s arm before hesitantly touching the pup. She smiled upon feeling the soft fur of the now-sleeping wolf. 

“Aye, she is,” Éomer smiled fondly. “Braedon was a good man, and sorely missed among the eored. He would have been proud of her.”

Daewen blinked away her tears. “I do not have what medicines she needs, Éomer,” she changed the subject, her brow furrowed with worry.

“Do not worry, I have asked for a healer to come tend to Rochiriel upon our return,” Éomer shook his head. He held up a placating hand when Daewen opened her mouth to protest. “I will take care of everything, milady.” He moved toward the door. “I will return later with my sister to check on Rochiriel. I take my leave to see to my horse, and to see to those… boys… who brought pain and suffering to your daughter.” He tipped his head and left.

Éowyn was standing by Firefoot’s stall in the stable when he led the horse into the building. “How 

is she?”

“She passed out from exhaustion, she is resting,” Éomer answered. “Rochiriel received several deep lashes and drank a little too much mead.”

“Godwine brought Theolaf and Eosolaf to the dungeon,” Éowyn told him. “I cannot believe they would do such a thing, Éomer. They are bullies, they are mean-spirited, but to attack another person?”

“They did,” his jaw tightened. “I bore witness to their actions, sister. If I had not arrived when I did…” His voice faltered and trailed off, his eyes tracking to meet his sister’s. “They would have killed her, Éowyn, had I not stopped them.”

Éowyn’s eyes widened as she sucked in a pained gasp. “Why?”

“No one but those little bastards know, Sister,” he shook his head. “I should send someone to look for Rochiriel’s horse—“

“Godwine found Brecc, a league from where you stopped to tend to Rochiriel” her voice dropped, hesitating before continuing. “He had broken his leg. They had to put him down.” 

Éomer walked away from the stall, stalking to the furthest corner of the stable, empty of horses, before slamming his fist against the wall. Pain blazed through his knuckles and up his arm as he cursed. He braced his hands against the wall, hanging his head as he struggled to rein in his anger. The soft touch of his sister’s hand on his armored shoulder made him stiffen, but he did not shrug her off.

“They dragged Brecc out of sight so Rochiriel would not see,” Éowyn told him sadly. “Godwine wanted to know what you want to do with the horse…”

“Rochiriel will be devastated,” he growled. “I remember when Braedon gave Brecc to her.”

“She loved that horse,” Éowyn leaned into Éomer when he turned and pulled her into a tight hug. “I will go out with Godwine to fetch Rochiriel’s tack, and a lock of Brecc’s mane… We must tell her, Éomer.” She leaned back to look up at her brother.

He shook his head. “For now, she rests. We will check on her later. I want to see those boys.”

Éowyn silently helped her brother attend to Firefoot, brushing him down, giving him fresh water and food. As they left the stable and headed up the stairs to the Golden Hall, Éomer spoke up. 

“Is Wormtongue giving you trouble?”

“Nothing I cannot handle,” Éowyn answered. “His words, his looks, his touches are unwelcome… and I will geld him if he ever lays a hand on Rochiriel.”

Éomer’s smile was grim. “I will kill him if I catch him harassing either of you.”

Éowyn was alone when she paid Rochiriel and her mother a visit before supper time, a basket of food on her arm. 

“Lady Éowyn,” Daewen embraced the king’s niece warmly. “Tis good to see you!”

“My Lady Daewen,” Éowyn hugged her mother’s old friend. “The sentiment is the same.” She pulled back, noting Daewen’s frown as the older woman looked out the door behind her.

“Where is Éomer?”

Éowyn’s smile faded. “He sends his deepest regret for not joining me,” she said softly, catching Daewen’s hand in hers. “My brother is not pleased with the punishment Uncle has given the two boys responsible for Rochiriel’s injuries,” she dropped her voice to a low whisper.

Daewen gripped Éowyn’s hand. “What was the punishment?” She kept her voice low as well.

Éowyn peered through the doorway into the house.

“Rochiriel is resting still, in her room,” Daewen whispered, reaching back to pull the door shut. “Eowyn, what was the punishment?”

“A fortnight in the dungeon,” Éowyn shook her head in disgust. "Two weeks punishment for nearly killing a woman, for torturing and killing animals."

Daewen snorted in an undignified manner. “A fortnight in the dungeon is better than no punishment at all,” she grumbled. “Thank you for telling me, Éowyn, I do appreciate your kinship with my daughter.”

“Rochiriel is my dearest friend,” Éowyn’s answering smile was fond. “Just as you were one of my mother’s dearest friends, and I will always hold you in my highest regards, my Lady Daewen.”

Daewen smiled back, tears burning at her blue eyes. “You are a treasure, my dear,” she took Éowyn’s hand and led her into her house. “May I enquire as to what is in the basket?”

Éowyn grinned. “I brought a feast fit for a queen,” she said as she set the basket on the table. “Éomer requested this meal for Rochiriel, to make up for the trout she'd had last night.”

“Your brother is a good man, Éowyn,” Daewen murmured. “A noble man.”

Éowyn blushed at the praise for her brother. “And he would deny every word,” she laughed softly. She looked toward the back of the room when a door opened. “Rochiriel!” Her eyes swept over her young friend, lingering on the wound on her cheek and the wrappings on her left forearm. 

Rochiriel moved stiffly as she came out of her bedroom, Faelan limping behind her. “Éowyn,” her smile was strained. 

Daewen moved to aid her daughter as she walked across the living space. She carefully put her arm about Rochiriel’s waist, well below the lowest wound on her back. “Shall I make more of the medicinal tea, love?”

Rochiriel nodded, easing her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Yes, Mama.” She looked at Éowyn, before looking around the room. “Where is Lord Éomer?”

Éowyn gave her a sad smile, “My brother asked me to tell you he regrets that he cannot join us this evening, he does not wish to upset you with the mood that has befallen him.” She motioned to the basket on the table. “He requested a special supper and asked for a basket to be delivered.” She pulled out a chair for her friend when Daewen brought her to the table. “Éomer promised me he would come visit tomorrow.”

Rochiriel looked up at Éowyn, her blue eyes filled with pain and sadness. “Will he?”

Éowyn took the girl’s hand into hers. “Aye, little sister. He will.” She leaned forward to press a soft kiss to Rochiriel's brow. "You know my brother could never deny you anything you ask. He would give you the moon if you wished for it." She was pleased to see color return to the younger woman's cheeks. "Now, it is my understanding you saved the life of a wolf pup?" She released her hands to pull out another chair to sit in.

Rochiriel nodded, turning to look for Faelan. "Mama must have taken him outside," she murmured as she turned back to face the blonde. "Eomer promised me Faelan would be safe in Edoras."

"Aye, Little Sister, he will be," Eowyn promised.

Éowyn nearly screamed when she entered her chambers and found her brother sitting on the fainting couch beneath her window. She pressed a hand to her chest, shooting Éomer a glare. 

“How is she?” Éomer asked as he turned away from the window.

“Rochiriel was very disappointed, nay she was hurt that you did not come to visit,” Éowyn answered curtly. “She is also in a great deal of pain.”

Éomer grimaced. “The healer is to be making three visits a day.”

“She is, Leighwyn came to help Rochiriel prepare for bed,” Éowyn assured him, her voice still a touch cold. She leveled a hard look at her brother. “Rochiriel believes she has done something wrong, and I had to assure her that your reasons for not coming were due to the foul mood that had befallen you and your desire to not ruin supper with your temperment. I did not tell her what brought on your mood, Éomer.”

He nodded, wincing as he looked away. “I did not wish to scare her or Faelan with my mood, Éowyn.”

“I know, brother,” Éowyn walked over and sat down beside Éomer on the couch. “Rochiriel…” she shook her head. “She was feeling the effects of drinking mead, she was hurting and embarrassed for her behavior earlier today.”

Éomer shook his head. “She has had a rough time these past few days,” he sighed heavily. “I did not mean to upset her. I wanted to spare her from my foul mood.”

“You should go see her tomorrow and tell her yourself,” Éowyn advised. “And pick some flowers for her! Now, my dear brother, it is late and I am tired.”

Éomer nodded, pushing to his feet. “Thank you, Sister,” he murmured, turning to walk toward the door.

Rochiriel sat stiffly on the chair as Daewen gently pulled the brush through her long and thick tresses. The bath had felt wonderful, the water the perfect temperature, and despite her humiliation of having to be bathed like a child all over again her spirits had lifted upon feeling the filth of the previous days being washed away.

The wounds burned, though. Leighwyn had assured her it meant the ointment the healers had mixed for the gashes was working, but it had left her in tears for a while after the woman had gently applied it.

At least it smelled pleasant and not like the rotting vegetable garden smell of the poultices Alldred had mixed for her. 

"Would you like for me to braid your hair?"

Rochiriel nodded. "Please?"

"I will pin it up as well, to keep the braid off your back," Daewen told her. "Will you feel up to company later?"

She nodded. "I hope so."

Her brow furrowed a few minutes later. "Mama, where is Faelan?"

"Éowyn took him with her when she left," her mother answered softly. "She wanted for you to get some rest without worrying for him."

Rochiriel fell silent as Daewen worked on her hair. She realized it was no simple braid after a while. "Mama, what are you doing to my hair?"

"I'm making you a crown of braids, child," the older woman shook her head. "My brave daughter should wear her hair in a fine manner always." She continued to braid Rochiriel's hair, humming softly as she wove a soft green ribbon into the simple plaits. "There," she said once she had finished pinning the thick braids around the brunette's head. "I'm not quite finished, love. Hold still," she murmured before she headed outside.

Rochiriel's brow furrowed as she watched her mother's retreating form. When Daewen returned a few minutes later with a few flowers in hand her eyes grew wide. "Mama..."

"Dare not you say this is too much, Rochiriel," the other woman gently scolded. "Let me do this for you." She carefully worked the short stems of the flowers into the braids before moving around to stand in front of her daughter. "You look beautiful, my daughter. Come to the mirror," she helped the girl stand.

Rochiriel hobbled to the mirror near the wash basin by the bedrooms, her blue eyes glued to the fine porcelain bowl her mother had brought with her from Minas Tirith. She had seen the way Éowyn had stared at her cheek last night, the sorrow in her mother's eyes, the sympathy in Leighwyn's. 

Slowly she drew in a breath before exhaling. She let her eyes drift shut before tipping her head up and breathing in once more. As she breathed out she opened her eyes.

She didn't see the beautiful milkmaid braids, the ribbon or the early spring roses circling her head.

No.

She saw the angry red gash and the sinew stitches holding the flesh of her cheek together, the deep black and blue bruising, the swollen flesh. She gasped, stumbling back in shock and horror at the deformed girl staring back at her in the looking glass. She reached up with a shaking hand to cover the wound. 

"Rochiriel," Daewen gently caught her daughter's shoulders in her hands. "It will heal."

Rochiriel pulled away from her mother and rushed into her room, shutting the door.

She could never let anyone look upon her again.

Rochiriel remained in her room for a better part of the day, seated on her bed and staring out the window into yard behind the cottage. She watched Daewen hang up the freshly-washed laundry and tend her garden plot. She watched a few of their neighbors come over and eased the thin curtain over the window whenever someone would look toward the house, concealing her from curious eyes. 

She knew they worried for her, she had known them all her life. Yet she feared they would stare at her or turn away in horror or disgust once they took a good, long look at her face.

She lost all sense of time as she sat there and startled when she heard a knock on the front door. One quick glance out the window told her Daewen was still tending to the garden and shooing away Maewyn's chickens from the tender green shoots beginning to show.

"Rochiriel?"

Her eyes slid shut when Éomer called out. She pushed to her feet and stiffly made her way to the front of the small home to answer the door.

Rochiriel positioned herself to keep her left side hidden from the door as she opened it. Her eyes widened in shock when she realized Éomer was not wearing his armor, nor the belt for his sword. He stood before her wearing a simple cotton tunic in a shade of light green and trousers of dark brown tucked into his sturdy leather boots, a basket in one hand and a bouquet of wildflowers in the other.

He smiled. "It is a lovely day, milady, but I believe a picnic in the sunshine would be too much of a discomfort for your injuries."

His voice carried a trace of humor laced with concern, snapping her out of her stupor. She nodded, stepping back to let him in.

"How fare you today, Rochiriel?" He asked softly as he nudged the door shut with his boot.

She awkwardly turned to face away from him, hiding her marred cheek from his vision. "I have discovered if I move to quickly I will faint from the pain," she admitted. "The ointment burns like fire when first applied but over time it cools down."

Éomer crossed the room to set the basket on the table before he moved to the cupboard for a tankard. He made quick work of filling it with water from the bucket near the side door for the flowers before turning to face her. "Rochiriel, do not turn from me, please, love," his brow furrowed when she started to shift. He set the tankard on the table and held his hand out to her. "Come here." 

She hesitated before reaching out to take the hand he offered. Once his fingers wrapped warmly around hers she stepped toward him. 

"Your hair looks lovely," his hazel eyes slowly raked over her. 

She blushed and offered a crooked smile, as her cheek hurt too much to give him a full smile. "Mama decided to braid my hair this way," she told him.

Éomer reached up with his free hand to lightly trace his fingertips over one of the flowers. "You should wear your hair like this more often, love," he murmured. "Éowyn assured me she passed along my apologies last night."

"She said you were in a foul mood, what happened?" Rochiriel's brow furrowed as she met his eyes.

He led her to the bench seat near the hearth, motioning for her to sit before joining her. He turned to face her. "Have they told you about Theolaf and Eosolaf?"

She shook her head. "No. What is to become of them?"

"They were sentenced to spend two weeks in the dungeon," he told her, shaking his head. "I tried to fight for a longer sentence but Theoden was not listening to me." His jaw tightened before he forced himself to relax for Rochiriel's benefit. "He claimed boys were boys and thought a fortnight was punishment enough."

Rochiriel gaped at him. "Two... weeks... They would have killed me, Éomer! They brutally killed wolf pups!"

"His mind is not his own, I fear," Éomer shook his head. "I will speak with Theodred when he returns from his patrol. We will formulate a plan to further deal with those boys." His hazel eyes slowly swept over her features, lingering on her cheek. "I wish I had arrived sooner, love," he reached up with his right hand to catch her chin, preventing her from turning away. 

She reached up to cover his hand with hers. "It is not your fault, Éomer. Tis mine for leaving the safety of the city."

He shook his head. "Do you regret it?"

She managed a smile. "I saved a life," she answered him. "That is one thing I will never regret." Her eyes locked with his. "And you saved two lives. Do not continue to beat yourself up for not coming to my aid sooner."

"I wish it were that simple," he whispered. "Rochiriel, there is something else I need to tell you." His brow furrowed once more. "It is about Brecc."

"Did... Did he not return? He ran off, startled by the screams of the pup, did he not..." her face fell when she recognized the sorrow in Éomer's hazel eyes. She shook her head. "No... No, Éomer, no, he can't..." 

"I'm so sorry, Love," he reached out to cup her cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing away a tear tracking down her cheek.

"How... no," she shook her head, swallowing hard at the lump in her throat. "Do not tell me."

"Rochiriel..." Éomer watched her worriedly as she blinked away the tears in her eyes and lifted her chin. "Love, I know how much he meant to you."

She nodded. "Thank you for telling me," she spoke in a hollow voice. "And thank you for taking care of me."

"Is there anything I can do for you, Love?" 

She shook her head again. "Your presence is more than enough, Éomer," her eyes slid shut when he pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head. She leaned into him when he carefully wrapped his arms around her, unable to keep the tears at bay any longer. She cried silently into his chest as he gently rocked her.

Éomer looked over his shoulder when the door near the kitchen opened. He tipped his head in greeting to Daewen.

The older woman's smile upon seeing the young marshal faded when she realized he was comforting Rochiriel. "Éomer?"

"I told her about Brecc," his voice was quiet. "His tack is in the stables with Firefoot's. I will bring it down later."

"Do not hurry, for I've no need of it," Rochiriel turned her head so her tear-thickened voice wouldn't be muffled in his chest. 

Éomer pressed a kiss to the top of her head, at a loss for what to say. He simply held her, offering her silent comfort instead.

Daewen crossed the room to sit on the bench next to Rochiriel, her blue grey eyes locking with the marshal's. "Will you and Éowyn be joining us for supper tonight, Éomer?" She asked, hoping to ease the tension she could see in her daughter.

"It would be my pleasure to join my favorite ladies for the evening," he agreed. "You are also more than welcome to join us any time you desire," he reminded her. 

"I fear the trek up the hill to the Golden Hall would tax Rochiriel greatly," Daewen shook her head. "Mayhap when her injuries heal."

"We would be honored to have you," he managed a smile before leaning back. "I already miss this one shadowing my footsteps in the hall."

Rochiriel scoffed at that. "Mama, do not listen to him, I rarely bother him when I'm with his sister. I daresay the opposite would be the truth."

"It is a darker place without you, Rochiriel," he murmured. "I brought lunch of chicken, rolls, and potatoes. What say you we enjoy lunch together before I return to my duties?"

Rochiriel agreed with a suddenly shy smile.


	3. A Beautiful Day For A Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rochiriel struggles with her scars and fears what the people of Edoras will say and chooses to remain hidden away in her home. Eomer and Eowyn wish to help her out of her self-imposed isolation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to go for shorter chapters from here on out. I struggled with this latest chapter, my muse disappeared on me for a while, and I realized I really didn't care to post three parts on Tumblr and turn around and merge them into a chapter to post here.   
I'm not quite satisfied with this chapter, but this one is a lot better than what I'd originally tried to write. 
> 
> Thank you for the hits, the kudos, the subscriptions and the kudos! <3 ya!

As her wounds began to heal, Rochiriel kept herself hidden away within the walls of her mother's cottage, permitting only Éomer, Éowyn and Leighwyn to see her. The scarring was hideous, and the pain in her back unbearable at times.   
Any attempt to get her to go for a short walk or to just step outside to feel the coming warmth of the early spring had been met with stubborn refusal. If they pushed too hard for her to go she would shut herself in her room until they left. However she had not counted on the stubbornness of her dearest friends. Éowyn more so than her older brother. She was determined to have her dearest friend out of her self-imposed isolation by the girl's seventeenth birthday.  
With a heavy sigh the blonde shield maiden looked up at her brother as they stepped out onto the parapet of Meduseld. "How can we bring Rochiriel out of her self-imposed isolation?"  
Éomer shrugged, his broad shoulders stretching the soft olive green tunic he wore. "I've thought of taking her for a ride on Firefoot now that her wounds have healed over and the stitches have come out." His jaw tightened at the unbidden memory of finding her wounded played in his head. "Perhaps a ride near the vale will help."  
Éowyn nodded. "I think that would work, big brother," she smiled up at him. "Perhaps take a picnic lunch, make a day of it?"  
"Perhaps part of the day, I fear it would be too dangerous to ride far from the safety of the city," he admitted. "You should ride with us."  
Her smile widened. "I promised Daewen I would help her plan Rochiriel's birthday celebration."  
His hazel eyes narrowed. "You had best not be planning something big, Little Sister," he warned.   
"Rest assured, we are planning a small party," she promised. "Daewen knows Rochiriel will only be comforted by the two of us and Theodred."  
"Let us leave it at that, then," Éomer stopped at the top of the stairs. "I need to find her a gift still. What are you gifting to her?"  
"You've seen the blanket I've been embroidering," she pointed out. "I will have it finished tonight to gift her. Daewen told me she's giving her the necklace her brothers had given her many years before. Theodred is gifting her a new cloak embroidered with simblemyne." She looked up at him. "You should talk to Maewyn about a dress."  
His face scrunched up in confusion. "A dress?"  
She nodded. "Rochiriel..." She glanced around them to make sure no one was near enough to listen in on their conversation. "Last week she admitted to me she felt like a monster with her wounds. We both know she does not possess one conceited bone in her body, yet after the attack, after... after the first real look she's had of her face she says she looks hideous. She tends to keep her left side turned away when you visit."  
He nodded. "I know. I've told her those wounds, those scars are badges of honor for saving a life, for standing up to those bastards."  
"But she fears everyone in Edoras thinks her as ugly," Éowyn frowned. "She no longer wishes to come up to Meduseld with us. She keeps the curtains shut over the windows, shies away when someone knocks on the door, and disappears into her room when someone other than us comes to visit. Yet I had noticed a few days ago when I had convinced her to wear her white dress and I had braided some of her hair and pinned it up in a ringlet that she felt more confident." She turned a sly smile on her brother. "She also smiled more when you paid her a compliment."  
Éomer groaned. "She does not see the beauty I-- we see, Sister."  
Éowyn's smile widened at his slip. "I know," she nodded. "It is merely a suggestion."  
They fell into a comfortable silence as they turned their gazes to the city sprawling out before them and the lands beyond the gates. Then Éowyn spoke again.  
"Perhaps it would be easier if she had a veil to cover her face, she would venture out once more," she murmured. "I've a veil I'd purchased at the last market we attended in Aldburg, remember?"  
Éomer frowned. "To hide the scarring would only serve to draw the eye to it, Sister." At her crestfallen look he sighed. "The most you can do is suggest it," he conceded.   
"I will fetch the veil and help her get ready for the day--"  
He caught her arm when she made to return to her chambers. "I've not asked her to go for a ride yet."  
"She will need the time to prepare, you silly oaf," she grinned, reaching up to grab her brother's bearded chin in a playful move.   
He grinned back. Oh, how he had missed the playful and carefree moments like this with his younger sibling. "I shall request a picnic lunch from the cook and ready Firefoot," he agreed. "He will be excited to see Rochiriel if she agrees."  
"Do not worry, Brother," the blonde assured him, her grey eyes sparkling. "Rochiriel will not say no to a ride."

Rochiriel ducked into her room when she heard soft footsteps on the porch, but little Faelan's happy yip told her Éowyn had arrived. She smiled to herself as she stroked her hand down the wolf pup's soft fur. "You really do have a special greeting for your favorite people," she murmured. She headed to the door when a gentle knock echoed through the room.  
Éowyn's smile was bright. "Rochiriel, I know I've returned earlier than promised," she stepped into the cottage when the brunette stepped back. "My brother wanted to treat you to a picnic."  
Rochiriel's smile faded. "I... I cannot set foot outside, Éowyn," she whispered shakily. "They will stare, they will point, they--"  
"Will be thrilled to see you, Rochiriel. Your friends and neighbors miss you," the blonde took her hands in a soft grip. "Éomer truly wishes to take you for a ride, Sister. He had promised you, after all."  
The younger woman nodded slowly. "I know, I remember," she turned toward her room. "I cannot let... them... see my scars."  
"They won't see your scars, Sister. They will only see you." Éowyn's kind voice soothed her. "My brother will be here within the hour, let us get you ready for an outing... outside of the gates."  
Rochiriel's blue eyes widened. "Away from Edoras?"  
"Not too terribly far," Éowyn smiled once more. "Éomer knows the perfect spot for a picnic. I will keep Faelan with me, to keep him out of trouble. Uncle enjoys his company."  
A fond smile lit up the brunette's face. "I do miss Theoden," she admitted. "How is he faring?"  
"He misses you as well, he wishes you to come visit," her friend reached up to touch her scarred cheek. "He understands your absence."  
Rochiriel caught her lower lip between her teeth. "If no one were to point or stare or whisper, I would."  
"If anyone points, stares and whispers, they are saying 'there goes the bravest girl in all of Edoras, facing down two bullies and saving a wild animal' or 'there goes the enchantress who tames wolves'," Éowyn grinned. "They would say, 'our beloved Rochiriel, daughter of horse lords, tamer of wolves, healer of horses and mighty warrior'."  
"I'm no warrior," Rochiriel could not help the giggle that bubbled up from her chest. "I bore no weapons in that battle."  
"Your words, your bravery, were your weapons, my dearest sister," the blonde stroked her thumb over Rochiriel's scar. "Let us get you dressed for a picnic, shall we?"  
Rochiriel endured the unnecessary pampering from her closest friend, but not without complaint. "I have never found it necessary to fashion my hair for a ride, Éowyn!" She groused as the blonde wove her dark brown tresses into intricate braids and pinned them up. "A simple braid will be fine."  
Éowyn chuckled. "I know, Sister. You have forgotten how much I love to play with your hair."  
Rochiriel bit back a smile. "You have always loved to dress me up, Éowyn."  
The blonde grinned at her. "There, now let's try this," she picked up the soft grey square of sheer material embroidered with delicate pink roses and pale green leaves she'd brought with her. She carefully pinned the veil over the lower half of Rochiriel's face. "Now have a look," she suggested softly.  
Rochiriel stood up and moved toward the mirror. Her blue eyes widened as she took in the thick braids and the sheer veil.   
"You look exotic and as beautiful as ever," Éowyn murmured in her ear.   
"You can barely see the scar," she whispered, reaching up to trace the faint line visible through the sheer veil she now wore.  
"I know this may not be what you wish to do," the blonde admitted softly. "However I thought perhaps you would wish to try this."  
"It is lovely, but I cannot breathe properly," Rochiriel blew against the veil.  
Éowyn unpinned the garment and set it aside. "We cannot have that, now, can we?" She smoothed her hands over the shoulders of Rochiriel's grey and ivory dress. "My brother should be here soon."  
Rochiriel turned to look for her cloak. "Is it still chilly out?"  
"In the early morn and late eve," the blonde told her. "When the sun is at its peak, it feels glorious outside. My brother will have his cloak should you need an extra layer of warmth, but for the ride, I have doubt you will need it."  
The brunette frowned at the shield maiden. Then her eyes widened. "Is he not bringing a horse for me to ride?"  
Éowyn smiled, shaking her head. "He had promised to take you for a ride on Firefoot."  
Rochiriel felt a blush creeping up from her chest into her cheeks. "It- it is not... not proper!" She stammered.  
The other woman smiled. "Éomer longs to see you smile again, Rochiriel. He--" She was cut off when Faelan tipped his head back and howled a hearty call. "He has arrived."  
She squeezed her friend's shoulders before she crossed the cottage to open the door. "Tis not windy, is it?" She asked at her brother's flushed cheeks.  
"No," he shook his head, stepping into the house with his cloak in hand. "Firefoot was rather hasty when I told him of our plans, he decided to race down the hill," he chuckled, setting the cloak on the bench in front of the hearth. He dropped to his knees to play with Faelan before he lifted his hazel eyes to the brunette lingering near the bedrooms. "I promise he will be on his best behavior when you are in the saddle, Rochiriel," his voice dropped to a near breathless murmur. "You look lovely, my lady."  
Rochiriel blushed as she ducked her head. "Thank you, my Lord Éomer," she whispered back. She drew in a deep breath, wincing as it pulled at the deepest of the healed wounds before she brought her blue eyes up to his hazel pair once more. "You promise Firefoot will be on his best behavior?"  
"For you, yes," the marshal's lips curved into a smile. "My horse has missed you dearly, Rochiriel." He playfully wrestled with the growing pup once more before scratching Faelan between the ears and standing. "I would like to start training Faelan soon now that he has healed."  
"He is an apt pupil," Rochiriel smiled as she patted her knees. "Faelan," she called to the little wolf. He loped to her. "Sit," she pointed to the floor at her feet. He promptly dropped his haunches to the floor, his tail smacking the wooden planks in a rapid staccato. "Éomer, Mama has a crock with jerked beef in it," she motioned to the table behind her. "I reward him when he does as he's told."  
"You will spoil him," he chuckled as he fetched a strip of beef. He handed it to the brunette.  
"Good boy," she murmured as she leaned over to offer the treat. She scrubbed her hands along his jowls and behind his ears and scruff, laughing when he tried to lick her face. "Stay with Éowyn," she uttered. "Visit with Papa Theoden and growl at that nasty Grima for me."  
Éomer choked back a laugh as he fetched his cloak and offered it to Rochiriel. "Rochiriel, you should not encourage him."  
She straightened and accepted the garment, slipping it over her shoulders. "Why not? It is my understanding Faelan does not like that snake."  
"No, he does not," he agreed, his hazel eyes turning to his sister. "You should not encourage him, either."  
Éowyn cocked a brow at the man. "Brother, we both know you will be teaching Faelan to guard against him should he draw near."  
"Aye, I will," he did not bother denying his sister's words. "I only wish to make sure the two of you are safe when I am away from Edoras." He held his hand out to Rochiriel. "Firefoot awaits, Love."   
The brunette ducked her head to hide her blush as she slipped her hand into his.  
Éowyn walked over to the door, Faelan at her heels. "Rochiriel, I pray you enjoy your outing," she turned to smile at her dearest friend. "For you deserve this. Brother, take care of her."  
Éomer nodded, "I always will." He reached for the door latch and looked at Rochiriel. "Shall we?"  
Rochiriel reached out with her free hand to stay his. "Give me a moment," she whispered, keeping her gaze averted. "I've not set foot outside since the day you brought me home."  
"I know," he lowered his head to brush his lips to the top of her head. "I will be with you every step of the way, Love."  
She drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I know I need to do this, for myself. If I do not find the courage to do so now, I will never find the courage," she admitted softly.  
Éomer nodded and smiled when Rochiriel's smaller hand moved his to open the latch. He laced the fingers of his other hand with the one he held, giving her a gentle squeeze to encourage her.  
A soft whicker greeted her. Rochiriel looked up to see flared nostrils and perked ears of the big dapple standing at the front of the porch. Firefoot tossed his head, calling to her again. She felt a smile break out across her face as she pulled away from Éomer.  
Firefoot shoved his face into her chest, nearly knocking her back in greeting. She laughed as she stumbled back against the horse's master. "I've missed you as well, Firefoot," she reached up to stroke the big grey's nose. "I've missed you." She giggled when she felt his velvety lips grab at her dress near her hip. "No, I apologize, I've no carrots nor apples to give you." She stepped back before Firefoot could shake his head at her to show his dislike.   
"Here," Éowyn pressed a smooth, round fruit into her hand before kissing her cheek. "Enjoy your afternoon, Sister," she murmured before calling to Faelan and heading back to Meduseld.  
Rochiriel held out the apple to Firefoot, smiling up at Éomer when he shook his head.   
"You've spoiled my horse," he gently reprimanded her.  
"He is still a mighty war horse," she pointed out, wiping her hand on her skirts to rid her fingers of slobber and apple juice before stroking her fingers through the deep grey mane. "I most certainly have not spoiled this handsome boy." She looked up at Éomer. "Not in a while."  
He gave her a sad smile. "I hope that changes soon, Rochiriel," he murmured before lifting her up onto the saddle.  
Rochiriel let out a squeak in surprise at the sudden move. "Where will you ride?"  
"Behind you," he answered as he straightened her garments. Satisfied he wouldn't be sitting on her dress and the cloak and causing them both discomfort in the saddle he grabbed the pommel and the cantle before hoisting himself up behind her.  
Once his feet were in the stirrups he wrapped his left arm around her waist and reined Firefoot around to face the road leading to the gates. Rochiriel stiffened briefly before she reached up to slip the hood over her hair.  
"Rochiriel?"  
"Tis fine, now," she tilted her head against his shoulder to smile up at him. "I am ready."  
"All right," he murmured before clicking his tongue to Firefoot.   
With every step the big war horse took from her cottage, her refuge, the brunette stiffened more and more. She clutched her left hand into the hood of the cloak at her throat, pressing the dark green wool to her scarred cheek.  
"Love?" Éomer's low voice soothed over her. "Do we need to turn back?" He asked once they reached the gate.  
She shook her head. "N-no, I need to do this," she whispered. "I need to do this."  
He tightened his left arm around her waist and nodded to the guards before guiding Firefoot out of the city. "We will not ride far from Edoras," he told her.   
Rochiriel tipped her head up once more. "If you feel it is too dangerous to be away from the safety of the city we should go back," she offered. "There are a few spots away from curious eyes."  
"I've my sword and knife, Love," he smiled. "I will keep you safe."   
They fell into a companionable silence as Firefoot plodded along at a walk. As the distance between them and the gates of Edoras grew greater Rochiriel reached up to drop the hood and tilted her face up to the warmth of the sun.  
She had missed this. The sun, the breeze (for once the wind was not blowing wildly across the Riddermark), the golden grasses and rocky outcrops. She smiled as she relaxed, completely relaxed, for the first time in ages.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this story three years ago and am still working on it. Writer's block sucks, plot bunnies appear out of nowhere, and distractions abound (namely other beloved Karl Urban characters *cough* Bones *cough*).


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